


i hope i'm not the only fool

by orphan_account



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Drunk Kisses, First Times, Friends to Lovers, M/M, gratuitous kissing, handjobs, i'm physically incapable of not making literally everything soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 04:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19881574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: and truthfully, it’s enough for john. it’s nice and safe.but allowing himself any indulgence has opened the floodgates of fantasies and feelings he hadn’t really realized he’d been holding back into the forefront of his mind, and it isn’t until he has brian may in his bed that john realizes just what he might want.he doesn’t tell brian this. he lets himself enjoy his mate’s company, lets brian kiss him and keep him from being too lonely in the neverending business and commotion of writing and recording and touring and queen. he lets himself have one little indulgence in the chaotic, all consuming whirlwind of his life.





	i hope i'm not the only fool

**Author's Note:**

> this is something that's been sitting in my google docs for ages, and i hadn't gotten around to finishing until now. i may write a second part? it feels a bit unfinished still. let me know what you think~
> 
> i have adhd and i don't proofread a single thing oops sorry

john is drunk. he can feel the buzz in his head, coursing through his body pleasantly, as he lays in bed and stares at the ceiling. he and brian retired early that night, settling to get a good night’s sleep before the band heads back out on the road tomorrow morning. but john, at least, feels far too wired up to sleep.

he looks beside him, where brian is sitting up against the headboard, eyes glued to a book settled in his lap. john’s eyes linger on brian’s lap a moment too long before snapping back up to stare blankly above. _i’d very much like to sit on his lap_ , he thinks. and as much as john would like to believe this is a new, unprompted thought spawned out of drunkenness, the last coherent fraction of his brain begins to whirl with repressed thoughts and fantasies that all center around the guitarist beside him. he’s fucked. (he’d like to be.)

“can’t sleep?” he hears brian ask him.

“no.” john rolls onto his side and looks up at brian, all lazy half-open eyes and slack jaw. 

“you really let yourself go tonight, didn’t you?”

“earned it,” john reasons.

brian just shrugs and returns to his book. it makes john’s lips curl into a pout, and he sits up- pausing as his head rushes around in circles at the sudden movement- and pries the brook out of brian’s hands. 

when brian looks at him again, his brows are furrowed together in confusion, which john figures is a little warranted. but then john shuffles awkwardly to his knees and moves to straddle brian’s lap, setting the book somewhere beside them. brian regards him carefully. 

“are you tired?” john asks. 

still giving him that ever calculated look, brian answers, “no.”

“good.” john leans in, bumps his forehead against brian’s and nudges their noses together. shy. cheeky. “have you ever kissed a man before?”

“... only once, and i was very drunk.”

“mmm.” john kisses him, a quick peck on the lips. a triumphant smile spreads across his lips. “twice drunk.” and again. “three times, then.” he’s giggling and grasping brian’s shirt with both hands. truthfully, brian’s never thought about john this way before. (he certainly is now.)

eventually john stops breaking away to keep count of their kisses, and that’s when brian grabs him by the hips and rolls him onto his back. it doesn’t last long- john pushes at brian’s chest and straddles his hips, leaving open mouthed kisses along brian’s jaw and down his neck. “i’m in charge,” he mumbles.

“fuck.”

john bursts into a fit of giggles, burying his face in brian’s neck. “maybe another time.”

they lay there for quite some time, john rested comfortably on top of brian, arms and legs tangled together. it’s a few sloppily exchanged kisses on every inch of skin they each can reach before john begins to wind down, breathing heavy and slow into the crook of brian’s neck. brian, for one, doesn’t have the heart to move him. nor the energy. 

hours later, however, brian finds the energy. he wakes sweaty and half-suffocated under the weight of his friend, and only just manages to push some of his weight off of him without waking him- much. john’s eyes flutter half open at him for a moment, before immediately closing as he shifts close to brian, resting his cheek against brian’s chest. 

“sorry about last night,” john mumbles. his head is already ringing. “i think i was very forward with you.”

“you think, huh?”

john groans, raking a hand through his messy hair. “that bad?” 

brian doesn’t answer immediately, and worried, john looks up at him. there’s a smile on brian’s lips. “not bad,” he answers honestly. john just groans again, ducking and hiding his furious blush in the fabric of brian’s shirt. “i mean it, deaky.” there’s a hand tipping john’s chin up, forcing him to look brian in the eyes. “truthfully, i wouldn’t be bothered if it happened again.”

john’s heart races. “is that so?”

“mmm.” brian cocks his head to the side, smoothing a hand over john’s hair and drawing him close, close enough that their lips are nearly touching, and christ, john wants a kiss to remember this time- “you’ve got terrible morning breath, you know?”

instead of answering, john grabs the nearest pillow and whacks brian in the chest with it. (he’s laughing.)

-

it becomes… a thing. 

for the most part, they just kiss. john initiates it for a while, electing to bother brian in his dressing room (they get their own dressing rooms now, and it’s entirely bizarre) and banter him half to death until they’re relaxed on the couch, arms entangled, exchanging luxurious, drawn out kisses. he’s happy to be forward now that he knows it’s not unwelcome. kissing brian is nice, strangely familiar because it’s brian, and equally devious because it’s brian. his bandmate. his friend. he feels like a naughty schoolboy for it sometimes. 

a part of him wants to talk to freddie about it, but he respects brian’s privacy too much. maybe later. maybe cryptically.

they’ve returned home from another tour to rest before working on another album when brian shows up on deaky’s doorstep looking anxious. john invites him in, and before he can get a single word out brian has him crowded against the door, and he’s kissing him hard. that night, john brings brian to bed. he doesn’t worry about the hickeys he’s going to have to cover with high collars and sweaters just yet. they kiss, and they hold each other, and maybe their hands wander just enough to be scandalous, but they really only kiss.

and truthfully, it’s enough for john. it’s nice and safe.

but allowing himself any indulgence has opened the floodgates of fantasies and _feelings_ he hadn’t really realized he’d been holding back into the forefront of his mind, and it isn’t until he has brian may in his bed that john realizes just what he might want. 

he doesn’t tell brian this. he lets himself enjoy his mate’s company, lets brian kiss him and keep him from being too lonely in the neverending business and commotion of writing and recording and touring and queen. he lets himself have one little indulgence in the chaotic, all consuming whirlwind of his life.

it’s easiest to do on tour, when they’re constantly physically moving about, and john doesn’t have the time to dwell on what’s brewing under the surface. he’s either irreversably wired and ready for the show, or bone-deep tired and ready to pass out on the bus, with very limited in between moments of feeling anything else. they make out in john’s dressing room before shows, in hotel rooms, in empty bathrooms, sneak pecks in dark hallways and exchange winks backstage. it fills the space between movements, and john is thankful for it. he comes to love the game they’ve created, the illicit thrill of sneaking around with brian, comes to expect every movement they each make.

he’s not surprised when brian drags him by the hand as soon as a show ends- they’re in tampa, john’s pretty sure- off to his dressing room, pins him to the wall and kisses him brutally. john _is_ surprised when there’s a hand on the bulge of his trousers, cupping his half hard cock through the fabric, and he lets out a high pitched moan to assert as much.

“you drive me mad,” brian is gasping into his mouth as his fingers fumble impatiently with the fly of john’s trousers. “you prance about that stage like you own it, you _know_ you look good, don’t you?”

“brian,” is all john can manage. brian shoves a hand down john’s pants, long, calloused fingers curling around his cock, and john is a goner. 

“that’s it,” brian coaxes. they’re not kissing any more, their lips simply sharing the same space, breaths mingling, foreheads pressed solidly together. john cants his hips into brian’s lax grip around his cock, and brian chuckles, but begins to stroke him. “you look like a dream, love watching you perform. love watching you lose yourself in the moment. want to make you lose it.”

john groans and tips his head back against the wall. “gonna,” john assures him, voice hoarse and broken. brian takes the invitation to plant heated kisses down the slope of his neck, nipping and sucking at the spots he now certainly knows make john squirm and whine. it takes all of a few minutes for john to cry out and come in his fucking trousers, all over brian’s hand.

“you couldn’t have warned a man, could you?” john teases as brian grabs a hand towel from the adjacent bathroom and uses it to clean them up. there’s a noticeable tent in brian’s trousers that he fully intends to attend to as soon as brian stops doting. 

brian gives him a sheepish smile. “didn’t know how you’d react, wanted to just go for it.”

“right, because we’ve been so terribly innocent together, haven’t we?” brian laughs. as soon as he’s zipped up john’s pants, john pushes him to the couch and straddles his lap. he’s sure he looks fucked out, flushed and mussy-haired and glistening with sweat from the show they just played. “you already knew my weak spots.”

brian latches both hands onto john’s hips, anchoring him where he’s sat. “and you know all of mine.”

“of course i do. and i plan to exploit them right now.”

it doesn’t take much more than a few strokes and some dirty words whispered in his ear for brian to come with a sharp gasp of john’s name, one that makes john’s sensitive cock twitch and his heart fill with something fluttery and warm. they clean up and crash on the couch at the back of the tour bus. if freddie and roger suspect anything, they don’t say a word. 


End file.
